


Something for the Nerves

by clear_sight



Series: Like a Drug [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual!Sherlock, Heterosexual!John, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, sociopath!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clear_sight/pseuds/clear_sight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long while spent observing John, Sherlock thinks he may have found a new way to make his mind slow down for a while.</p><p>[Rated for themes.  There's nothing explicit.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something for the Nerves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orizuru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orizuru/gifts).



> I had been contemplating writing something about the nature of John and Sherlock's relationship for a while. I can't see them being an easy pairing to write. There are too many issues in the way. John's heterosexuality and Sherlock's sociopathy, for instance. And I, like seemingly the entire rest of the fandom, saw where there was potential for something like this. And so here we are. As of now there are no plans for further chapters. I just started writing and then this happened. We'll see if anything else happens. This is neither beta'd nor Brit-picked, so if there's a problem please don't hesitate to tell me.
> 
> Gifted to JahLoveAngel, my fabulous friend and RP/cosplay partner, for inspiring it with several 2 and 3am discussions on the nature of these two's relationship.
> 
> Disclaimer: Sherlock is owned by the BBC.

It had started out innocently enough, as John would like to imagine these things often did.  He wasn’t sure, however, if that was actually true or not, but it made him feel better to tell himself so.  How else was he to explain what had transpired between himself and his ever more startling flatmate?

When John thought about it, there had been a slow spiral of events leading them to this point.  It had unwound itself over the course of a number of cases.  Really he should have seen it coming.  Probably the first indication came when he and Sherlock had been working on the case he had dubbed _A Study in Pink_.  When, in the midst of a fake drugs bust, Sherlock had admitted to his speckled past.  John could understand where the need behind the addiction came from.  Likely the only reasons he hadn’t crawled into a bottle of alcohol and stayed there were because he was a doctor and on top of that he had watched Harry struggle with her own alcoholism.  Neither source of knowledge gave him any input he would have looked forward to experiencing first hand.  But in Sherlock’s case the problem wasn’t nightmares or flashbacks, it was the fact that his mind never switched off.  Perpetually bored and unable to sleep, lacking anyone to keep him company, it was little wonder he had turned to drugs.

The next several had come during the case of The Woman.  Really, the whole of the case since dubbed _A Scandal in Belgravia_ had been peppered with things that should have tipped him off.  There were reasons beyond the purely cerebral for Sherlock to have taken such an interest in Irene Adler.  And John had managed to miss every last one of them.  Sherlock was not, so far as he could tell, a sexual being.  Nor was he, John had noted, a person who easily gave over control of _anything_ to anyone else.  And thus John had missed all the tiny parts of Sherlock’s odd admiration for The Woman that were not based purely upon her wit and intelligence.

The final piece of the puzzle had come when they were away on a case at Baskerville Military Research Facility.  At first he had tried to put it from his mind, assuming he must have misinterpreted.  But there was no putting anything from one’s mind so long as Sherlock was around to deduce exactly what you did not want to talk about and then spend the entire night over-analyzing it while you tried to sleep.

And so it was that they found themselves here.  The locality was not so odd, situated as they were in the cozy, cluttered sitting room of 221B Baker Street.  Yet at the moment it was exactly these qualities that were making an already slightly uncomfortable situation slightly more uncomfortable.  John swallowed hard, the fingers of his left hand worrying the bottom edge of his jacket, eyes raking once more over Sherlock’s hunched form.  The tall, spindly man was kneeling at his feet, looking up at him expectantly, studying him.  John could see the analysis going on in his mind from the calculating look in his eyes and suddenly he was very aware of just how hot it was in the cramped room in his full combat fatigues.

“Are you listening, John?” Sherlock’s voice broke through the nervous haze John had found himself in.

“Hm?  What?  No, uh, not exactly,” John admitted a touch sheepishly.  

“I said,” Sherlock began as kindly as he could when he was obviously peeved at having to repeat himself.  “We don’t have to proceed if you are uncomfortable.  I’m not going to try to push you.”

That caught John off guard.  Of course he had never had much concern that Sherlock wouldn’t respect his feelings in this sort of… situation.  But that was due in large part to the fact that he had never figured on them finding themselves in this sort of situation.  That, though, raised a new set of questions.  There had been so many instances since they had moved in together where he had had to defend his claims of heterosexuality against everyone’s assumptions, yet as he studied Sherlock now – pupils dilated, breathing slightly quickened, minutely elevated heart rate visible where the skin of his throat was stretched taut due to the angle at which he was craning his neck to look up at John, all clear signs of excitement – he found that he wasn’t the least bit put off by any of this.  In fact, he was a bit excited by it himself.

“I…” John started, finding it necessary to stop and collect his thoughts for a moment before continuing on.  He could feel his face turning red.  “Actually, I think I might like to give this a go if you’d like to.”

Sherlock nodded curtly.  When he spoke again it was in the same matter-of-fact tone he used for deductions.  John felt certain he was trying to cover up his own anxiety.  “Before we do anything, I think you should be aware that I am asexual.  That being said, it doesn’t bother me if you derive sexual pleasure from these encounters, so long as you do not expect me to reciprocate.”

“Excuse me, what?” John interrupted.  Sherlock would mock him for his confusion, but at the moment he didn’t care.

Sure enough, the slender man quirked an eyebrow up at him in a look that said as plain as day _I don’t understand your confusion_.  “I am asexual, John.  Really, I thought you would have worked that out on your own by now.”

“Sherlock…” the doctor breathed in a bemused tone.  “No, I hadn’t.  No one had you figured out.  I took the liberty of asking around when we first met.  No one could figure out a thing about your romantic interests.  But even if I had assumed that, what you’ve just asked me for… well I’d think it would preclude your being asexual.  If this isn’t sexual to you, then what are you getting out of it?”

Sherlock sighed softly and shifted out of his crouch to sit cross-legged on the floor.  John took this to mean the impending conversation would be a long one and took his cue from Sherlock, settling himself on the end of the couch directly behind where he had been standing.  The taller man wasn’t looking at him and it gave John a chance to really study his expression.  His forehead was crinkled in thought, gaze fixed pointedly on the floorboards, long fingers moving slightly as though he was unaware of them, probably without his permission.  John had never pinned Sherlock as one to have a nervous tick, but if he did then his fingers twitching as though settled on the strings of his violin certainly seemed a fitting one.  After a moment’s silence he licked his lips and looked back up at John as though sizing him up.

“You know how my mind works, John,” Sherlock said calmly.  “You probably know that better than anyone.  You know I can’t turn it off.  It gets so… tiring dealing with that all the time.  And as you have been a very strict enforcer of my sobriety over the past few months, I no longer have anything to help me slow it down.  But you know that already.  You know what the addictions were about.  You know what the violin at three in the morning is about.”  He paused, studying John carefully before continuing.  “That’s what this is about.  If I can just let you have control, just for a while, then maybe this will be manageable again.”

There was a long silence before John managed to breathe, “Christ, Sherlock,” in a low, somewhat cracked voice.  It took him a moment more to collect himself enough to ask questions.  “Have you… done this before, then?  I mean, you do have experience with this?  That’s why you’re asking?”

“No,” Sherlock answered plainly.  “I think you overestimate the people I have associated with in the past.”

“How so?” John questioned.

“Drug dealers are not often the most well-intentioned of people,” Sherlock replied coolly.  “I didn’t know many other people.  And since I’ve gotten out of all of that, I’ve really only associated with Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson and, well, not much potential there.”

John let out a soft, nervous laugh.  “No, I suppose not.  But why me?”

“I trust you.”

The reply was far blunter than John would have imagined, even for Sherlock.  His eyes went slightly wide and he could see Sherlock trying to read his expression.  He was certain he looked ridiculous, but he wasn’t expecting the minute and very brief flash of hurt that melded across Sherlock’s expression, disappearing almost as quickly as it had come.

“As I said, I won’t push you if this is something with which you are not comfortable.”  The detective began to rise gracefully to his feet, long legs uncurling out from under him, his comment barely a whisper.

“Stay,” John exclaimed without thought.  The quirked eyebrow and immediate obedience he got in response to the order gave him pause.  “Sherlock, look,” he sighed, his tone making his stress painfully apparent.  “That’s not it.  You never trust anyone.  With anything.  Ever.  What did you expect me to say?  And it’s not that I’m opposed to this, but I need time to process the idea.  I’m not as quick as you are, as you love reminding me.  So just… Just give me some time, okay?  A day or two at least?  Let me process this, alright?”

“Would you feel better if we discussed ground rules?” Sherlock asked softly.  “It might give you a better idea of exactly what it is I’m asking of you.”

John nodded, swallowing again.  What _was_ it that Sherlock wanted from him?  Nothing sexual, at least.  Not if Sherlock’s claims of asexuality were to be believed and John was of the strong opinion that they were.  He knew a small amount about this sort of thing, though no more than what his work in medicine would have brought him and none of that was anything pretty.  Sherlock couldn’t possibly want John to hurt him, could he?  Not like that.  He knew John was a doctor, sworn to the duty of healing.  He couldn’t possibly ask for that.

“John, you look pale,” Sherlock commented, his brows knitting in uncharacteristic concern.  He must have looked bloody awful, John judged from Sherlock’s expression.

John shook his head a little.  “I just… Sherlock you have to understand, I don’t know much about this.  And the few things I’ve seen come through the wards…”

The tall man frowned at this.  “I won’t ask you to do anything that would warrant a trip to the surgery.”  He hesitated briefly.  “Mostly I just want your authority.  If you wish to hurt me, you may, as long as you don’t burn me or leave scars.  If you wish to restrain me, you may.”

John nodded curtly, shrinking in on himself slightly, a bit intimidated.  “I think I can do that.  Just not tonight, okay Sherlock?”

Sherlock, however, continued to study him with a frown.  “John –”

“Come,” John cut him off.  It was slightly meek, almost indecisive, but it was an order nonetheless.  Wordlessly, though slightly skeptically, Sherlock obeyed, rising to his feet and going to stand in front of his army doctor.  “Sit,” John ordered, looking up at the detective.  When Sherlock made to sit at John’s feet, the smaller man grabbed his wrist and pulled him into his lap.  The tall man weighed almost nothing, the doctor noted.  He was certainly far too light for his height.  He felt in John’s arms as though any harshness would break him in two, although John knew Sherlock had weathered his fair share and more.

One spindly, long-fingered hand reached out to touch his hair, studying the texture.  Fingertips eased their way down along his temple, causing him to tense a little.  At that, the hand withdrew and its owner frowned.  “A bit not good?”

“No,” John admitted.  “Just strange.  All of this is.”

“Because you’re heterosexual,” Sherlock posited.  The blatant, matter-of-fact, no room for argument way he’d said it left John a bit taken aback.

“Yes, well, no, but, um…” he trailed off, searching for words.  “I’m past forty, Sherlock.  You have to understand, at my age it’s not easy to adjust to this.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed.  “You aren’t heterosexual, then?”

John sighed.  “Yes, I am.  Or at least, I think so.  But when you were, uh, kneeling for me, waiting for orders,” he paused to lick his lips, “I thought maybe I could be attracted to you.”  A soft groan snuck past his lips and he buried his face in Sherlock’s shoulder.  “This is probably horribly awkward for you.  I’m sorry.”

“Why would it be awkward for me?”  Sherlock sounded genuinely puzzled. 

John simply looked incredulous.  “You’re asexual.  You can’t tell me this isn’t awkward for you.  Hell, it’s awkward for _me_.”

Sherlock studied him for a moment, observing his expression, taking in the weight of John’s arms around his waist.  “If it were anyone but you, it might be.  However, as I already stated, I trust you.”

“I don’t see what trust has to do with it,” John gritted through his teeth, pressing his face back into Sherlock’s shoulder.  It was dark and soft there and smelled of Sherlock.  It was comfortable.  He could hide from the world there.

Long, delicate fingers wove themselves into John’s hair, holding his head gently in place.  Sherlock may not have understood entirely why John was so upset, but he had watched the shorter man comfort enough people to have a reasonable grasp on what to do.  “Trust has everything to do with it.  Think for a moment, John.  Think about what I’ve asked you to do.”

“ _Christ_ , Sherlock,” John groaned against his shoulder.

There was a moment’s silence.  Emotions were the one thing Sherlock could not reason out and right now he had to be very careful.  While he couldn’t really care any less about how he affected most people, John was different.  John was special.  John was the exception.  Wasn’t that always the case?  From the moment John had limped into his life, Sherlock had known that he would be _different_.  “John, come lie down with me.”

“A bit early to go to bed, isn’t it?” John questioned, barely looking up.  “Are you actually going to sleep?”

“No,” Sherlock admitted.  “But I thought you might like the rest.  And you like affection.  I’ve seen as much watching you with your girlfriends.  So I thought you might like to go lie down.  We can talk about this tomorrow.”

At this John pulled back to look up at his friend.  “Alright.  But you have to promise to stay in bed or you’ll wake me up.”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock smirked in reply.


End file.
